On the Wings of Cynicism
by Mx4
Summary: In which a bored writer takes a perfectly good comedic character, applies heavy dosage of seriousness dumps it all in the blender and hits puree. Hope it doesn't ruin anything for anyone.
1. Humanism 105

A/N: In the eighth episode of the comedic ensemble show Community, one Jeff Winger mentions that he was left at the zoo, insulted and abused as a kid. The following rambling is the result of that line being mixed with a liberal application of imagination and creative license. I do not own Community, nor would I like to since I'd probably run it straight into the ground. There's a reason this is a piece of** fan**fiction after all.

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Like many of the human race, Jeff Winger has always been curious about people. More specifically, he's always been interested in what makes people tick, what makes them react. And even more importantly, how those reactions can be used, how they can be harnessed and controlled even in their rawest form. At least, that's what he tells himself when he makes up yet another cock and bull story about who he is and where he comes from. _as well as why he's such a complete and total head case/nut job/total bastard/really take your pick of the insult litter they're all classics_ Those he has bothered to tell anything, he has told a lie. Because of this, he has had all kinds of parents and upbringings.

Single mother for the tomboy at the airport lounge who believed he didn't understand women. Single father for the psych major who was always too eager to show that she could be sympathetic to anyone who needed a willing ear. Rich and lonely kid who came to think of his nanny as his real mother for the punk rock guitarist who wondered what on god's green earth such a cocky, arrogant and self-absorbed jerk such as him had to feel bad enough to drink himself into oblivion about. Poor latchkey kid whose mom and dad had him when they were barely into adulthood themselves for the half-wit modern philosopher who thought that being jaded and cynical and able to spout profound sounding but ultimately pointless crap meant that his life experiences had given him 'wisdom beyond his years man.'

Sometimes he hasn't had any parents at all. (That's only in extreme cases however, like when he needs an Emergency Sympathy Distraction or when he's feeling particularly vindictive and out to make someone suffer one hell of a guilt trip.) He has only hinted to one person who he really is and the actual story behind it, and that was a half truth at absolute most. _seriously it's like nobody really decides it's worth the effort to dig much deeper after they get past the crust_

And the problem with half truths is that without context, they may as well be outright lies anyway. For the truth of the matter is this: he doesn't know where he's going or who he came from. _he has heard of people having such phenomenal memories that they can remember times when they were four three two still in the womb etc all of it ridiculous but no less what they all decide they want to believe_ The earliest memory Milo has is of Phillip and Belinda Fletcher telling him that he's such a polite young boy and that they'll always love him and that he's just the cutest little thing. _that last one…well okay all three are exclusively Belinda but that doesn't make it any less true in his own head_

He grows up with them for about five years in an ordinary middle-class existence of no real remakability whatsoever, _repeat after me everybody one of us one of us_ reaching the milestone of ten years of being alive in this world when an unpleasant dose of reality interrupts what was turning out to be a very happy life for him. His little sister Angelina _a poop stained stinking disgusting loud and did he mention stinking mess of an idiot not that he's bitter or anything_ is born into the clan of Fletcher. And smart little kid _so his more sympathetic teachers had said_ that he is, Milo realizes that this is not a good thing, no matter how much his cousin Jess and Aunt Gem disagree. Because despite her cherubic face, _what he knew words like cherubic when he was ten that's his story and he's sticking to it_ Angelina was a terror and a half in her first few years. She found ways to escape her crib, she found out that if she tossed her sippy cup at his head and giggled the parental units would laugh along with her, but most importantly she found that if she cried enough she could get anyone to do anything she wanted.

All except Milo. He never treated her any differently when she was upset or when she was happy or anything else in between. She was always Angie the Brat for him; whether that was for better or for worse. _mostly for worse in his admittedly warped skewed but most of all oh so very __biased__ memory_ Strangely enough, it made him one of the ones she would insist on hanging around with and observing if only, _he has mostly convinced himself of this in half drunken reminisces and self-pitying retrospectives_ to figure out how to get through to him and get under his skin the way she did everyone else. This wouldn't bother him. But soon enough this would all change, regardless of whether or not he wanted it to. _he didn't_

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The first of three unpleasant realizations for Milo comes, as he would hint in later years, during a trip to the zoo. It was a pleasant enough day, his parents, his little sister and him were all meandering through the park, taking their time to see everything they could. _he looks back on that wording in his head and he realizes that he'd already subconsciously picked up on the hierarchy even if he never wanted to admit as much out loud_ They're watching the monkeys when Angie trips and falls nearby and starts howling like some of the aforementioned apes. Milo, who is all too used to her squalling, manages to tune her out and watch the primates interact for quite some time. _he gave them their own names and relationships and everything and god how sad is that that he's making up imaginary lives and dramas for monkeys to amuse himself_ The sun is lower in the sky by the time he finally draws his eyes away from their cage and realizes that he doesn't have the first clue where his parents and his sister are now.

He doesn't panic. Not at first. _he certainly didn't come less than an inch from peeing himself out of sheer terror those seconds when he realized this no way no how_

He looks around the enclosure. He calls for them. He looks for the map that might let him know where they are. He searches for about an hour before it really sinks in: they've left him behind. Not truly able to cope, Milo heads to the nearest lost and found station _for those pesky rugrats who just won't follow you the way they're supposed to_ and lets the people there know how to contact his parents at home. It would turn out, after almost five hours of interminably waiting, to be Phillip who would come back to pick him up.

His gray eyes would be firmly in disapproving mode, his mouth in a definite downturn; he would barely even look in Milo's general direction as he picked him up, brought him out to the car and started driving them both to the hospital where they had taken his sister to see if she needed stitches. The disappointment is clear in every line around his eyes; every level of his body language screams 'don't start with me.' But sadly, when Milo gets upset enough, he never can reliably follow what his more cautious side tells him would be the best course of action.

He demands to know why his father and mother left him there all alone.

His father sharply asks why he didn't follow them. Why hadn't he seemed to notice his sister crying hysterically. _why didn't he seem to care even now is the unspoken question in the air_

Smart enough to get out of even casual studying though he may be, Milo Fletcher is still not even close to being the magnificently manipulative _dun dun dun_ lawyer he will become in future.

He stupidly responds that Angie does that kind of thing all the time, that it isn't all that different from the other times she's been quote 'hurt.' That it just proves how his parents care more for her than for him. All the festering resentment, all the barbed anger, all the bitter disappointment pours out of him in a torrent, not even fully coherent as he tries to convince, tries to change what he saw _knew in his heart_ to be a grave imbalance in the world. Phillip would remain quiet throughout his tirade, never once speaking, never once looking at him, just staring fixedly ahead, hands tightening on the steering wheel until the knuckles were white as milk. Then he calmly says two words to young Milo: "Shut. Up." He doesn't shout, he doesn't get red in the face, he doesn't even breathe harder. But his contempt for Milo is now clear as a lighthouse's sweeping beam on a stormy horizon. "I know your mother and I didn't raise you like this. So how about you try giving a crap about someone that isn't yourself and stop being such a selfish juvenile brat for five goddamn minutes?"

For the first time in his _hazily remembered_ life, Milo Fletcher is completely struck dumb by something said to him. He cannot believe what his own father has just said with such a tone of utter conviction to him. _it still echoes in his ears to this day, not because it's true oh no that's not it not it at all just the sheer unfairness of it all when he was first she was the interloper the one always needing attention always needing validation_ But it does what it was meant to do. It keeps Milo silent until they reach the hospital again, and it continues to do so for the rest of the day even after they're home and they're going to bed. His father never said anything to him about it after that. Milo never called him out over it. Neither of them mentioned it to his mother. After all, what could come of it? A half-hearted apology that everyone knew the old man didn't even mean? A confirmation from her that she thought the same as him? No. Milo would never let on what it meant to him. He would show his father that he was the first, that he was the child who deserved to be treated as the better. He is not the hanger on, not the selfish ingrate and damn him for believing it all the same. _it still doesn't do jack to stop the clenching in his gut however when he remembers all those times Angie cried and wondering absently why it still all sounds the same to him even after so many years_

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The second of the three is when he's nearly ready to graduate high school. It's been a long and trying road: parents riding his mildly attractive_ understatement in his own expert opinion _butt to try and push himself, to apply himself and work hard and show his real potential and all that inspirational pep-talk guidance counselor crap he's been hearing since elementary school. Milo doesn't want that though. He can get through by coasting. It's not at all a passive aggressive rebellion against the two people who have consistently praised Angie for the simplest assignment completions, who don't expect her to be much more than an average student, but no matter how well he does there's always something about his work ethic or his appearance or his friends that can bear yet more criticism and quiet _sometimes not quiet enough_ disapproval.

He wants badly for this all to be over, for it to be at an end. For him to be able to get out into the world and do something away from them. _preferably something involving lots of money lots of women and none of the work needed to get it _He's sleeping in the basement again, the old rec room still good for crashing on after a hard night of peer validation and personal reassurance. He's getting up now, starting to climb the stairs gingerly because his head still hurts and he doesn't need the racket those rotting planks can give off sometimes. He promises himself once again that he can and will moderate himself. Next time, he curses silently, next time I'm definitely stopping after three. Or maybe five? Eh, no more than seven he shrugs.

As he reaches the top of the stairs, he hears murmuring behind the door. Never one to pass up a prime opportunity for closed door secrets, he tip-toes the rest of the way and places his ear as delicately as he can on the oaken gateway. What he hears is the second of the three important but unpleasant revelations he will face in his life even if he doesn't realize there is one more to come after this.

His father's voice is continuing a conversation, an old one, judging from both their tones of voice. "I'm telling you Belle, there is something off about that kid."

"And I am telling you, Phillip James Fletcher, that Milo is a bit wild and hard-headed right now because he is a teenage boy. He's not doing anything truly dangerous, he's doing okay in school even if we wish he could be doing better, and he's alright overall."

"That's not what I'm talking about and you know it." His father interjects before his mother can really start going. _smart man cutting her off at the pass_ "Ever since we got him, he's been an odd kid. I know you love him Belle, and he can be a real charmer with everyone. But that boy, you just don't really understand …"

"Understand what?" Is the impatient question of the hour. _yeah what exactly am I missing_

"Okay, here it is: Did you ever just watch him interact with people when he was younger? And I mean **really** watched him interact Belle, not just glanced at him out of the corner of your eye and thought to yourself how polite and verbose a little boy he was."

"What on earth are you talking about? Of course I-"

"No you didn't Belle, don't try to tell me you did. When we brought him home from that social worker-" What the hell? Is the first exclamation that wants to spring from Milo's mouth which fortunately never escapes since he definitely doesn't want to miss this now. "And first introduced him around, he was polite I'll admit. But if you'd really watched him then, you'd have seen it yourself. He had only a basic understanding of emotions. I'd see it in his eyes, the need to think about how he was supposed to react to something before he displayed any kind of feeling at all. He had to act and guess every single interaction. Once Angelina came along, it only got worse."

"Oh, that's absurd! There was nothing wrong with him to begin with."

His father plowed on, steady as a particularly stubborn ox. "He's never been naturally affectionate with anyone. Not with her, not with his cousin, not with your sister. Not even with us that matter. Milo doesn't really…feel. It's like he just…just…just doesn't understand how to care."

Milo can feel his hackles rising at this. _and they suppose their precious little Angie doesn't do this exact same thing whenever she opens her stupid mouth_ He doesn't force himself to keep listening. He leaves the door and goes back downstairs. He flops bonelessly on the couch, eyes glaring at the ceiling, trying to incinerate it with the power of his thoughts alone. So much makes sense now to him. He always thought it was so odd how everyone in the family was overjoyed when Angie came into their lives; calling her their "little miracle angel." Even now it was shorted to just "angel" from those who wanted to tease her. The pieces fall in place for him now one after the other. He'd been left by his birth family, not even worth being named by them. The Fletchers had thought they couldn't have kids and he'd appeared pleasant enough to his mo-**Belinda** to seem to be a good choice. _even if Phillip was pretty well convinced he had been a closet sociopath from the word go_

He'd only ever been a grand back-up for them. A living plan B. That was why they focused on Angie so much even if she was decidedly not worth it. _not to him not worth being all but outright discarded once it became clear he wasn't necessary anymore_ That was probably also the reason Phillip had always treated him so distantly. The old man was a cold fish, but if you were family he'd do what he could for you. If it wasn't flesh and blood, it wasn't worth it. _can't blame the man really everyone thinks that way telling themselves they'll love them no matter what but there's something about genetic family that's just so different from anything else_ He feels a stinging in his hands. Bringing them up into his line of sight, he notes with a sense of detached interest that his nails have bitten so far into his palms as to draw blood. _what do you know looks like the old bastard was wrong he __can__ feel something after all_

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Jeff Winger _he changed who he was and never let them know where he was going even though he promised Angie he'd see her again soon not that he feels guilty about lying to her since she's not even family for god's sake_ is back in their shared apartment now. His and Alaina's that is. She was an up and coming lawyer at the firm; he's the good looking boyfriend who's been there a few years now ever since faking his way into a position with them and never looking back. She doesn't know much about him and he doesn't know much about her in return. _common interests common foods common trial philosophies it'll be enough really it will_ They kept it that way while they lived together, having decided _he asked if she wanted to keep some stuff at his place she shrugged in acceptance and it kinda snowballed from there in all honesty_ that maybe they're ready for this.

Now though; now it becomes clear that it wasn't enough to try and be chemically attracted to each other. It wasn't enough to try living together for the matter of commuting or convenience. It'd developed quickly on his end. They'd worked one embezzling charge together, and soon they were partnering up more and more, each turning to the other to cover the holes they might've missed in their defenses. _more than that in the break rooms bathrooms anywhere they could get away with it_ They're a good team, this much is acknowledged. It progressed logically. Go out together, _get drunk_ calmly talk about this whatever it is, _inarticulately slur innuendo_ and go from there. _go back to one of their places or a hotel doesn't matter really so long as they can get whatever it is they want_

They'd been living together for awhile now, gotten into what could almost be described as a domestic setting before he ruined it by speaking the dreaded phrase. He loved her. _what a time for his talent at judging and gauging people to fail him huh_ He admits it verbally. She hesitates before saying the same, but he doesn't notice. _being in the middle of the hot and heavy tends to distract like nothing else_ Now it's been half a month and she's just strolled in announcing that she's gotten that promotion and the raise, and that she's moving the rest of her stuff out in two days. He's standing there dumbfounded, unable to believe what's going on. The only thing he can do is ask. "Why?" is the first thing that springs out. _not again not again please god that might not even be real don't let this be happening again why is the only thing I hear a vague crashing sound and the smell of gas_ "Because I need to." is what she tells him, apparently assured enough in that being an answer that she can go to the bedroom they've shared without even looking at him and start packing her stuff. _goddamnit no that is not how this works you don't get to just toss me a single frickin' bone of we're not working out bye now and then expect that to be the end of it_

"What the hell are you doing?" he shouts, supremely angry that she didn't even look in his eyes to tell him, like she couldn't deign to do so. "Exactly what it looks like." she answers, tone straight but sarcasm implied as she packs more of her clothing into a suitcase to move out. _oh hell no I am not going to be brushed off that easily_ "So I get absolutely no say in this whatsoever then, you'll just call the pet-sitting service to take care of me until a new owner can be contacted?" he spits angrily, not even sure if he's making sense anymore but not really finding it in himself to be at the top of his wit at the moment.

"I thought you knew what this was. You proved you didn't. It would've come to this anyway." She tells him, finishing up her packing, clicking the latches shut. _like the sound of a coffin lid closing his morbidity obsessed mind tells him don't let her out that easily make her twitch make her crack I want her to plead guilty the rest of the peanut jury says_ "What are you talking about? Come to what goddamnit?" he shouts, grabbing her arm, forcing her to face him for one second. Her deep green eyes catch him off guard. There's a glimmer of something there alright, but it certainly isn't affection. _pity sympathy maybe some kind of wretched sense of sad condescension he's never been too good at figuring out that kind of thing subtle nuance without confirmation_ "When we started this, I thought you wanted the same thing I did. A partnership with someone on your level, someone who could work with you_." we have that still do but if that's true why can't I understand why she's going now_ "But I thought you understood that this was also a pit stop, a stepping stone at the absolute most." _whatever he thought she was going to say and could counter it certainly isn't that not by any count he can come up with_

"A…what?" he asks numbly, unwilling to understand. She gives him a subdued little half-smile and pats his cheek. As if he were a child who'd just been told Santa Claus wasn't real the night before Christmas. _maybe to her he really is just a kid who didn't get it after all he certainly wasn't cynical enough despite his previous experiences to think of her as a convenient little tier he could just use to climb to the next level whenever he wanted _"I'm sorry Jeff." _no you're not don't lie to me not like they did_ "I really thought you understood. But I guess…we really didn't get each other after all." She takes the suitcase and walks out the door, leaving him alone there, with nothing but himself, the furniture and his memories for company. This is when he realizes that this is what the universe is telling him. This is the final revelation. The messages he has to use to define himself from now on. The first had been his lesson in roles. _they will never be yours no matter how much you want it you will never take the role you so desperately want to play why should an extra like you get promoted you are not blood you are not flesh you are not necessary_ The second had been his lesson in reality. _truth is only what you make of it a big fat sick game where the only things you have are what you carve out and take for yourself so buck up get yourself some cold hard cash and pretend for awhile it makes it okay that you don't belong anywhere_ And now this is the third. His lesson in humanity. _people only mean as much as they can get you what you want they will never see you as anything but a ladder step so don't ever forget that at your own risk boy or else there'll be hell to pay_

He wishes so badly that he could be angry at her. That he could get mad as hell and be able to claim he won't take it anymore like that one character everyone seemed to quote when they wanted to be dramatic. But he doesn't. That would require getting worked up and after everything else that has gone down in his life; he just can't find the emotional energy to care anymore. His head falls for a second as he contemplates what this means for his now admittedly freer social life. He perks his head up, rushes into the bathroom to shower, slap some cologne on and go out for a night on the town. And considering he just got out of a relationship, who knows where the night might lead? _if his eyes are suspiciously bright as he does this he can pass it off as being excited when he sees it in the mirror being a good enough fake lawyer means being a great fake you when the need to believe is strong enough_

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A/N: I had originally thought I'd be able to write more about the reasoning behind the thoughts and changing of minds involved in the first season, but I'm still working out the translation between the reality of the show and the interpretation in my mind. So, this has been posted basically as a warm-up and a question of whether it should be continued or not by anyone who has a strong enough opinion. Love it, hate it, don't care or just want your pastrami on rye, a review saying as much would be nice. Since you all have that infernal thing known as free will however, you are free to just peruse and leave quietly without any sort of mark of your presence should you


	2. Mentality Manipulation 203

A/N: Well, here it is. Chapter 2 of this character exploration. I thought I'd be able to just post the first season as the first chapter and then get to the second season as the second chapter, but the episodes just had so much going on that even just the first episode alone turned out to be way beyond what I thought I'd be posting for it. So, each episode will probably have their own chapter from here on out. Hope that won't be a problem for anyone.

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Jeff Winger hates books. Well, not so much books themselves but more the learning that seems to go hand in hand with them when he has to read ones that are outside his personal comfort zone. This isn't anything new_, especially since he actively derides most of real life as it is snarking at it safely ensconced behind his own ego shields that have yet to be breached since Cash_ mostly since he's one of those people who's practically allergic to actual work. And to read something that isn't the cliff notes version is akin to balancing a peanut on the tip of a…a…well, whatever the technical name is for a 'person allergic to peanuts' tongue: sure to end in tragedy if it goes on longer than .3 milliseconds. He knows and accepts this about himself.

This is why he makes sure to look up the faculty once he heads to Greendale Community College to see if he can get someone to spin this situation into anything that could potentially get him out quicker. _yet more shortcuts that he seems to need more than his near neurotically balanced diet meant to keep him large and in charge_ Lo and behold, who should he find still teaching there in spite of _more like because of_ his chronic drinking problem but former client Ian Duncan; the professional shrink who can't seem to diagnose an addiction even when it stares straight back at him from the bathroom mirror.

He's upfront with the One-In-Need-Of-Rehab. He needs test answers and he needs them everywhere. He knows Duncan will probably object, which is why he looked up his page of case-notes in the drunk file he still kept on his comically undersized bookcase _that one folder more like phonebook is actually thicker than his murder and embezzling and assault and miscellaneous folders combined and what does that say about how many of those cases where alcohol was involved that he had to do even as one of the more respected lawyers in the firm maybe the bosses were trying to say something about him no it had to have been about Alaina not him he has been careful he's sure he has_ to make certain he was remembering the right guy. Turns out he was. In simplest terms, Duncan was a wimp. Unless of course he had about seven shots in him beforehand. Then he turned into a (in Jeff's rough figuring using the W.E.I.S.S. or Winger Everyman Irritation Spectrum Scale©) Class-C12 Jerk that would insult you, sound sophisticated while doing so and not make a lick of anything approaching sense the entire time. _Jeff categorizes himself two ways first as a class-b7 bastard when stone cold sober but oddly enough a less severe class-f10 party boy when he hits the sauce a bit too much_ He points out Ian's hypocrisy in concerning himself over Jeff's lack of ethics, since that kind of tactic tends to be the most effective in shutting people up. No one, at least not in Jeff's experience, ever seems to truly believe or feel secure in the knowledge that hypocrisy is part of what it means to be a functioning human being.

But Jeff's not here for philosophy, he's there for answers. He leaves the office, confident that Duncan will see things his way before the day is out. He feels good today as a result. So good in fact, that he does something that he wouldn't normally do and goes for a girl who he knows just by looking at her will be a challenge with minimum reward points involved. She was blonde, she was decently hot and she looked like she was trying to cultivate a 'seen it all, done it all, figured it all, just waiting for you to catch up' air that most people who were (over)confident in their own interpretations of the world seemed to have. She wasn't quite a modern philosopher yet, but she was certainly on her way. Oh yes, this was going to be fun he thought with a smirk. He approaches her; she rebuffs him before he even tries. _how interesting someone so used to being hit on that she goes preemptive usually a good tactic but not when your opponent has been thoroughly trounced by masters of the game and come out the other side mostly unaffected_

He offers her tutoring, being sure to speak what little Spanish he'd glanced at in the glossary as authoritatively and quickly strung together as he could. He was certain this would convince her he really was a tutor since a) if she had to study this hard before an upcoming test for an intro course, it was more than likely she hadn't actually paid all that much attention during the lectures or glanced through the book more than a day before and b) Jeff knew _from personal experience combined with years of practicing pseudo-legaleize _that if you spoke with a certain amount of authority, you could get pretty much anyone to do or believe anything. Sound convincing enough and people will be convinced even if your argument sounds more like it belongs in the brain of a paranoid schizophrenic than a rational human being.

But it works, he's sure of it. She agrees to tutoring and to meet him in the library. He'll have to thank that way too talkative kid if he sees him outside of class _can't be seen as too friendly otherwise oh that way there be dragons and worse yet attachments_ again for letting him know about that little test-taking anxiety of Blondie's. When he meets up with her, he uses a hastily procured flyer as a contact sheet. He's trying to get her to open up when she sees someone in the doorway and her face lightens immediately. He looks. Well, crap, wasn't expecting to have to thank Ol'Chatterbox with Blondie in the same room.

She smirks at him a bit as Abed makes a comparison to the Breakfast Club. He has Falafel Boy put down his number on the contact sheet as well as Blondie continues talking to him with that damn smirk on her face. He waits for him to provide the drop-out with a distraction before quickly texting a message to him. Mr. Movie pauses and…oh come on! Who the hell reads a text message aloud? Even if it is apparently the first one they've ever gotten before and wow doesn't that set off all kinds of sentimental alarm bells in his head. He exasperatedly thanks whatever's looking out for him today for Ian's text message that comes soon after, even if it is written in such an oddly worded, clearly trying too hard attempt to be hip.

He's really not in the mood to debate with Duncan now, especially when he asks why he thinks he'll get away with it. So he puts it as simply for the unnecessarily whiny brit as only he can: that if you talk enough, you can do virtually anything. If you're Jeff Winger at least. So either Joan Osborne was being literal or he has acknowledged and taken advantage of the basic premise that good and bad are all relative. Duncan tries to make him feel guilty, _again haven't you figured out anything about me from these exchanges of ours_ so Jeff simply uses some reverse psychology along with good old fashioned implied pansiness against the emigrated snob. It works almost too well, but Jeff really doesn't care at this point. He heads back to the study group to try and salvage at least a little gropage from Blondie, but discovers something far more horrifying upon his return: even more people. _what in the hell how did breakfast club even find this many people from the library let alone the spanish class_

The jock asks point blank if he'll be his nerd-in-waiting. Why he didn't ask the girl in the green who has the nerve to question what board certifies a tutor he doesn't get, since her almost obsessively organized school junk would imply she doesn't actually need a study group at all._ he doesn't actually know the answer to her question and yes it is a cowards way out to take all his stuff in his arms and practically sprint for the exit but it's the principle of the thing damn it_ He encounters Blondie outside, fresh victory cigarette puffing away in between her lips.

He still says they're a difficult group to tutor and immediately tries to get her to go to a Thai food place _for crap sake why isn't something about this day going the way he wants it to yet_ but she spouts off something about priorities and testing before dating. He doubts very much that was her attitude back in high school, but smartly doesn't say as much. But then she makes her mistake. She jokes that if the group really is that bad, they'll be able to cut out early anyway. If this were a movie, he'd probably be doing some kind of hand movement with a cheesy villain laugh while lightning clashed in the background. _who cares if it's sunny out logic doesn't exactly dictate that all action movies take place in a world where the primary background color is grey or black either so shut up already_

When they come back, he decides to go for having the group introduce themselves, see if any of them can be induced to be his Catastrophe Catalyst. The old guy proclaims himself the creator of a brand of moist towelettes that he can't for the life of him ever claim to have heard of and a professional toastmaster. Jeff has met toastmasters before. This guy may be a part of the club in name, but he doubts very much that he's encouraged to speak at meetings. _or even attend really but no need to be mean let this all develop on its own if he hasn't figured that much out about himself yet there's no need to inform him at this point_ All said and done, he only correctly identified one person in the entire study group that voluntarily (he assumes) has occupied the same room as him for the past seven or so minutes. Not bad for a guy who's either in the early stages of senile dementia or who just plain doesn't give a flying fuck.

The sweater geek speaks. She practically demands to know _in a breathless way that little kids sometimes get when they've wanted to say something for awhile but held back because mommy and daddy said they'd be bad little girls if they expressed themselves so rudely god he can practically see her tittering alongside Angie about the cutest boy they just saw_ why she had to find out about the study group by accident. Jeff celebrates mentally and does a little victory dance with both hemispheres of his brain, almost letting a few bars of the Jaws theme slip out. Looks like he found the Catalyst. _ah blood in the water such a sweet scent especially when one feels the thrashing that accompanies it the closer you get to the source_ He spouts off a line about study groups falling apart due to unresolved tension (mostly it's when people try to resolve the tension within such groups that things start to break) before gently pricking the brunette teenager about if she was really not invited. As she starts to answer, the motherly looking woman whom creepy old guy seems to like a little too much tries to reassure her, interrupting and overriding what she was starting to say.

It's all Jeff can do not to openly smile, his hand still on Blondie's to keep her quiet as he watches sweater girl get so defensively disrespectful that he half expects her to spit in mother's face. The clearly (and reasonably) offended Shirley starts to rock herself a smidge as she visibly bites back a retort aimed at what she now thinks of as a snot-nosed little punk. That can't be let alone though. Jeff picks his hand up off Blondie's to point out to everyone that clearly she wants to say something in response. He says as much, knowing the fireworks are going to begin now. _saying what you really think contrary to popular opinion is not the best option since while it is the most well known method of finding out the quote unquote truth about something it's also almost entirely offensive or hurtful when it is spoken since the only time people are encouraged to really express themselves is when they're in a bad bad place_ However, he's going to keep that to himself as mommy dearest ups the ante with a threat to push said teenagers face through a jukebox. Just when he thinks things can't get any better, they degenerate further. Pierce touches her hair, apparently not at all familiar with the concept of a sexual harassment suit.

Jeff merely has to draw their attention to it for Pierce to ineffectively defend his creepiness while Letter jacket explains the concept of inappropriate behavior. Pierce retorts and tries to snap back at the glory day has been. Once again, Jeff is amazed at how mere disrespect can go such a long way toward fostering outright contempt between total strangers. Green sweater tries to call him on being a authoritative jock by pointing out that Greendale Community College does not equate to Riverside High, and now Jeff practically feels like he's committing a cardinal sin of train wreck watching by not bringing a camera of some kind to record the carnage since jock boy clearly doesn't remember her even if they did go to the same high school. True to form, the _absolutely clueless_ idiot asks how she knew where he went to school. He can feel Blondie's horrified stare boring into the side of his head, mentally demanding he do something to stop this. Frankly, he probably couldn't prevent such a masterpiece of disaster from going down even if he could find it within himself to want to do so at this point.

Angie Mark II gets shrill and expounds about sitting behind him in Algebra. _ah looks like we got ourselves someone with a crush this explains how she could've found out about this little group on quote unquote accident today's lesson in human relationships is brought to you by the word stalker_ Holy crap, who would've guessed a member of the Future Librarians of America would've been a former pill addict? And now just when it starts getting good, Abed pounds the table to bring their attention to him. He quotes Bender's brief Christmas monologue word for word from Breakfast Club and Jeff is actually intrigued by someone for the first time in awhile. _every other role has been taken jock nerd weirdo princess but not the screwball that's the only one left he can recite to fill out the entire detention card so to speak_ For once he finds it hard to tell whether someone is doing what they are on purpose or by accident. He has never been a big believer in coincidence before, but maybe he'll have to revise that opinion if he doesn't find out that Abed is a huge observer of the human condition. He's actually reluctant to leave for final negotiations with Mr. Tea-Drinking-Milksop now, if only because he wants to see how long it takes this group to start discussing kegger semantics while threatening to rip each other's arms off and beat them to death with them. _he keeps track of certain threats he hears if they provide interesting or intriguing enough mental images that one is particularly popular in sports communities sometimes it's the leg that's used as the weapon though really depends on what kind of sport the participants are a part of and how seriously they take it_

Duncan has him practically fold himself in half to fit in his little clown car in the parking lot, effectively blackmailing him into giving up his prized Lexus _the one he'd bought for himself to feel better after a flopped case that he really needs to remember his former life and try to get around with some semblance of style the smell of homeless piss doesn't really do much for one's image especially if they're openly riding the public transportation with no better explanation_ for one year's worth of test answers. Yes, it's good he supposes that Duncan has apparently learned something close to approximating street smarts regarding Jeff, but why couldn't he have done this after giving the answers and getting nothing in return? But Jeff doesn't really have a choice left if he wants to salvage anything about this entire situation. So, like a bum taking whatever spare change he can get on a rainy day, he gives up whatever shreds of dignity he had before in the vain hope that maybe it won't be so bad if he does this now.

When he returns, Blondie is practically spitting acid _and not the fun kind either_ outside the quiet _not so much anymore_ room absolutely unable to believe that a guy who lied about having a Spanish study group to try and get into her pants would be willing to turn absolute strangers _in this instance meaning people he couldn't give less than a damn about because while they may have names they're really nothing but props in an Adam West Batman special just waiting to be broken as soon as the hero in this case Jeff_ _needs to_ against each other in order to go out on a date with her. He decides to fall back to the smart-ass routine, since if he tries to go sincere again it'll probably a) break her brain with the behavioral inconsistencies and subverted expectations, _since most human beings capable of any basic empathy would find such a thing like he has done reprehensible_ and b) even if she is a blonde, _and proving to be more and more of one by the minute in his somewhat bitter opinion_ to try and so obviously smarm up to her is insulting to her intelligence. She petulantly demands that he fix it, still determined not to see the fact that he got them at each other's throats with just a small dab of that honesty she claims to treasure so much kind of implies this was going to happen sooner or later anyway and at least now no one's going to go psycho on them and stab each other in the eyeball with one of the mechanical pencils for a perceived insult. _god he really has to stop watching thriller and crime and mafia movies they're starting to give him some kind of violence fixation he swears_

She agrees hurriedly to going out with him if he cleans up the now worsening shitstorm he managed to blow-up in there, sarcastically remarking that she'll never forget what a jerk he is even if she does go to eat with him. He shrugs to himself. _ha as if there's never been any kind of one night stand that you've regretted the next day or even the night it was happening but may as well let her keep her precocious self-delusions it's a lot more fun to watch her run rings around herself trying to justify the things she thinks while condemning what she sees_ He makes a smart remark back about her changing her mind when she sees his _playmobil_ car before going to work at what he does best. He starts off by getting them all quiet. One shout is all it takes in his authoritative "lawyer voice" to get them to pay him attention that took Abed crudely slamming his hand on the table to achieve.

He tells them all _and this is true because he doubts very much that lemurs or even extremely intelligent dolphins would ever celebrate anything like shark week even if the dolphins are more prone to infanticide than people would ever like to admit_ that humans are the only species on this earth that observe shark week. _yeah he has Boston Legal on DVD you can scoff if you want but some of that crap really does work _He knows pretty much everyone sitting at the table _not him he's standing and pacing and he can almost convince himself he's nothing like these mentally fragile emotionally immature toddlers who try so hard to show that they're grown-ups and not bratty seven year olds trapped in adult bodies_ has glaring flaws and weaknesses, ones he exploited to get them to the point of being ready to commit assault and battery on each other if they had any idea how to be violent outside of a purely verbal arena. And since he knows those, he decides to use courtroom tactic number 27 in his arsenal: polish the turd on the floor with silver paint and plead with whatever exists out there and might have some effect on the outcome that nobody decides to poke the new coat off.

He snaps a pencil, giving the first name that pops into his head; Steve. It was mostly for fun, but he claims it was in the name of showing that people can care about anything. _just not each other though why spoil the nice self-help seminar you've got going here jeffy_ He starts with Straight-A's-Addict. He calls her driven _perfectionist pain in the ass_ saying they need people like her otherwise _people might have to actually do their own work_ _they're mostly the same all about the books virtually no power to read any real person that's not described in ink or print_ the lights would go off and the ice cream would melt. _a not so subtle jab at her probable romantic streak real classy winger_

He moves on to Creepy-Old-Guy, saying he has "wisdom" to share, _oh is that what they're calling mad cow disease now_ but is sure to not let him say anything least he ruin the moment. He continues onto Psycho-Mom, _like it I figure if you were a part of the bar fighting scene you gotta have at least a little in ya_ warning everyone that she deserves respect as a woman because that jukebox thing was just ready to stream out of her mouth once she got offended. _he half expected her to say she knew now to cut a bitch and wasn't afraid to do so but that'd be somewhat racist if he says it out loud_ He goes to the quarterback of stereotype high next, trying to buy time to think of something he can say about the filmophile. That one's easy enough: appeal to the ego even if it makes no sense whatsoever. _astronauts hate oxygen really_

Wow, Abed really took his naming the pencil to heart. Trying to mend him and everything. _it's okay little buddy shhh shhhh you can be whole again even after you've been broken by the heartless one_ He calls him a shaman _homeopathic nutcase_ who gives soup instead of salt because he _either can't or doesn't want to understand_ knows better, because soup is _in very specific cases_ better. Then, as though acting as some sort of official, he goes for the _schmaltziest_ gusto and pronounces them a community. He turns toward Blondie, expecting to see the defeat in her eyes now that he has solved the problem without even having to be honest in the least. Instead, she quits the game. She pisses all over what they had going and proves that when she can't win, she will just as easily discard all sense of protocol when playing against a superior opponent and cheat if it means she can get her self-satisfied sense of victory and justice fulfilled. He doesn't try to hide any of what he has said; easily admitting that what he just spouted off was total BS as far as they were all concerned. But he has something they don't: _an ability to look in the mirror and see the ugliness of his soul and convince himself that it too is something he is proud of_ the test answers to all these tests that are coming up. Just to make sure this jury of (nominally) peers will leave him alone afterward, he admits to being a lawyer before coming here. He doesn't give a damn that they boo him as though he had just proclaimed his identity to be the reincarnation of Carrot Top himself. _really he doesn't care at all_

Abed tries to get at him by calling him Michael Douglas. Jeff, sick and tired of their voices by now, decides to tell Abed what everyone else is obviously so reluctant to tell him. "Yeah, well you have Asberger's." As he comes outside, he discovers that his _hollow_ victory isn't even a victory. Duncan, in what perhaps might be the most stunning display of wit since Monty Python _sarcasm I'm guessing his brain idly remarks_, has given him a whole bunch of blank sheets of paper with the word 'Boo-yah' written on the last one. He feels his _chiseled_ face go blank as he contemplates beating the crap out of Duncan, _wouldn't be the first time though it certainly would be for a far more selfish if just as emotional reason as before_ his long legs carrying him to the smarmy bugger's office in almost no time at all. The Two-Faced Drunk tries to say he was doing it to teach a lesson. He gives up the second charade quickly as Jeff's massive frame strides toward him, a blank and cold expression lining his eyes. _one of the perks to being such a freakishly tall guy pretty much no one with even a moderate sense of self-preservation will mess with you simply because they believe somewhere in their heads that you could pick them up and stuff them in an air conditioning vent near the ceiling if you were so inclined_ Duncan tosses him the keys to his Lexus that he gave up for nothing and Jeff leaves again, not even bothering to pretend to tune into what he shouted to him as he strode away again. As Jeff passes the library again, he notices Pierce out of the corner of his eye.

Pierce calls out to him, saying the last thing Jeff expected him to say. That he liked him, that he reminded him of himself at 'his age.' _however close to the First World War it was_ Jeff nods his head a bit and responds graciously that he deserved that even though he knows Pierce didn't mean it as an insult at all. _he doesn't really care what Pierce does or doesn't mean at this point he just wants to be left alone again_ He sits on the steps and Pierce sits a person length away from him before telling Jeff he's been married seven times and can't figure out what he's doing wrong. _well unless all these women come from the same family the only common factor is you_ Jeff tells him that his problem is that he keeps getting married. It's not like everyone is meant to find someone he wants to add, but doesn't because he knows that'll be read as projection. _even though it totally isn't really it isn't stop looking at me like that_ Troy sits down right next to Jeff, their shoulders practically touching as he seems to decide that if Jeff can advise the guy losing his mind, he can advise one teenage boy having issues with clothing.

Troy asks Jeff about wearing his letter jacket. _not too surprising since it's the only thing he has from his glory days he doesn't want to let it go but he also doesn't want people to sully those memories by ridiculing them_ Jeff tells him frankly that no matter what choice he makes, if he does it for other people and not for himself, his choice is going to be the wrong one. Troy says, with a weird tone of admiration, that Jeff has wrinkled his brain. Jeff assumes that means he's confused and doesn't pursue the subject. Blonde Bitch leads the other girls and Abed out, gloating about why he's back here. At this point, Jeff's simply doesn't care about keeping the cool, detached smart-ass act going. So he admits he doesn't have jack now, holding up the blank pieces of paper as physical proof of just how much this place seems determined to punish him for trying to exploit it. Troy, emboldened by Jeff's _somewhat simplistic_ advice, tells him to just study an hour and he'll probably be fine since he seems like a smart guy. Jeff smirks with a bit of sour nostalgia and looks into the distance, deciding to continue his honesty streak since at this point he really has nothing left to lose. He lets out a short laugh, before he publicly confides in Troy: "The funny thing about being smart is that you can get through most of life without ever having to do any work." There's a stretched silence for a few beats. He hears cloth rustle and bags shift as the women behind him apparently have a silent conversation entirely of gestures and expressions. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Troy joining in on the mute conversation. Abed of course, asks the others if they can hear him, asking if he has gone deaf. _he can't help but smile a bit at that in that little way he proves himself to be more honest than Blondie could ever dream of even if it does make everyone else uncomfortable it's nice in a way to see someone willing to cut through all the unspoken social protocols and just get to the heart of the matter_

Blondie reluctantly asks him to rejoin them in the library, saying he could probably use some help on the test. Jeff stares at the people behind them incredulously, but doesn't look the gift horse in the mouth, accepting. The others leave to get to work but Abed lingers for a few seconds. He apologizes to Jeff, saying: "I'm sorry I called you Michael Douglas and I see your value now." before he heads back in. Jeff sits on the steps, simply reflecting on the knowledge that that is quite possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to him before he too reenters the library, his old confident swagger returning. _it's not the nicest because it's effusive or even entirely true but because he could see just by looking at Abed that he meant exactly what he said exactly as he said it he didn't have to dissect it take it apart and put it back together just to figure out what he was saying guess that means there is a sliver of the good kind of honesty left in this world here's to hoping it'll stick around for awhile_

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A/N: And there you have it. Jeff is a huge jerk I know. He'll be keeping that attitude around for some time, fair warning right now. Anywho, reviewer kelly suggested I do a similar look into the origin of the other Community members. At first I thought I wouldn't really be able to do that, but when I gave it some real thought, I found a veritable mine of ideas. Most of them probably won't actually make it to the final cut, but I am going to be honestly working on a similar look at familiar faces soon enough. So heads up. Leave a review if you liked, disliked, have your own ideas about possibilities for story-lines (as reviewer LoremIpsum did), or just feel like going stream of consciousness like Jeff. Till next time all ye faithful.


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